


to be caught and commanded

by intimatopia



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Acceptance, Akechi Goro Attends Shujin Academy, Canon-Typical Violence, Devotion, Implied/Referenced Murder, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Morally Grey Akira, Role Reversal, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28246266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intimatopia/pseuds/intimatopia
Summary: Sooner or later Akechi would find out what exactly Akira was, and this would be over like it had never happened. Akira knew better than to let himself rely on someone else, especially someone as effortlesslygoodas Akechi.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 11
Kudos: 155





	to be caught and commanded

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in 48 hours or less? don't look at me. based on [this tweet](https://twitter.com/_intimatopia/status/1340989851517157377?s=20), which i promptly got distracted from. title from a marina tsvetaeva poem. i was listening to [this](https://open.spotify.com/track/6IUwiHsyKAZtfBy37Wu4ij) as i wrote.
> 
> a huge thanks to [moki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moki_989) for the swift and fantastic beta work, without them this fic would've been messier and taken longer <3
> 
> i am quite nervous about this fic for [redacted] reasons but i had fun writing it so that counts for something, right?

The problem with Akechi, Akira kept thinking, was that he was _fucking annoying._ He thought everything that happened in Shujin was his business, and he poked his nose everywhere and because he was tall (and pretty) and wasn’t afraid to get his knuckles bloody (but god, he threw a punch more gracefully than any eighteen year old should’ve been able to) people answered the questions he always had. Shujin’s student populace was terrified and they didn’t want to piss Goro off—on top of everyone else that was always pissed at them for nothing they’d really done.

And there was the other thing. Compared to the kids at Shujin, Goro was _wonderful._ A breath of fresh air, really, in his (foolish) lack of fear; his refusal to cave to the moral blindness of the people around him.

Which did not in the least explain why he’d decided that _Akira_ was the most interesting thing around. Unless he could sniff out killers, in which case he’d be better off being a detective than terrorizing a school, but Akira wasn’t in the business of questioning the life choices of people who would, whatever they did, be better than him.

So Kamoshida had a palace. Akira didn’t even bother being surprised when he stumbled into it, a conversation with Ryuji ending with that damned app transferring him to another realm. Ryuji wasn’t with him, which was a relief.

Someone else was, though, and Akira didn’t know whether to be annoyed again or somewhat relieved or… No, he was going to be annoyed, because it was Akechi and _why was it Akechi._

He knew why. Justice rebellion spirit of rehabilitation _whatever._ Akira hated that entire spiel even as he summoned Achilles and jogged over to where Akechi was blinking curiously at his surroundings.

“Do you live here?” he asked Akira, hands coming up in an instinctive gesture.

“No,” Akira said shortly.

“ _Akira_?” 

“Keep your _voice down._ ”

“Sorry,” Akechi whispered, and then blushed like he was embarrassed to have caught himself apologizing. “It’s probably dangerous here,” he continued, still peering around himself. “Is that why you’re in that outfit?”

It had taken Akira a _week_ to suss that out. He tried not to be bitter, or think about how Akechi would probably make a much better comic book hero than him. He failed on both counts.

“Yes,” he said. “You can leave now, but if you keep following me you’ll…”

How did he explain this?

“End up like you?” Akechi asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Let’s go in.”

They went in. Akechi asked questions about everything, and Akira answered them to the best of his ability. _Treasure, we should get that. Shadow, it’ll attack if he sees us. Yes there are traps. No I don’t know why there’s no echo here, why would there be an echo here? Shut up about the physics of sound and focus, for fuck’s sake—_

A shadow attacked them. Akira fought it before Akechi could think, took it down and took its mask and then tried not to feel anything about the way Akechi was giving him a look that was almost, almost impressed.

It had been a while since Akira thought of himself as _impressive._ _Focus,_ he told himself, and they kept going.

This whole _trying not to feel things_ wasn’t going to work out for Akira, he realized grimly a while later.

“ _Merlin!_ ” 

Akira never stood a chance. It wasn’t fair. Nothing in Akira’s life had been fair for a long time, though, and Akechi looked like a fucking prince in white and red and that elegant feathery mask, and Akira resigned himself to this somewhere in his soul where no one would know to look.

He helped Akechi up. Akechi smiled at him. Akira blinked away the afterimage and thought about things he really shouldn’t have thought about.

“I thought my outfit would be darker,” Akechi said wistfully.

Akira doubled over laughing. “Pure of heart,” he snickered. _Unlike me._

“Shut up,” Akechi said. “Well. Shall we go in?”

“Does nothing scare you?” Akira asked, vaguely curious. “This place could have anything in it. We might not survive.”

Akechi shrugged. “Are you scared?”

Maybe if Akira had been a little more scared he wouldn’t have ended up in this mess in the first place. “It’s a little too late for fear,” he admitted.

“There you have it,” Akechi smiled. “Let’s go.”

Akira followed like there was a hook in his stomach. He should’ve resented it.

He still had to teach Akechi how to fight with things other than his fists. And answer his questions. He came up with ten every time Akira looked away for a second, though never about how Akira knew what he knew. Mostly Akira was grateful for that, though some part of him remained suspicious. By the time they tripped back into the real world, Akira was absolutely desperate for a drink of water.

Akechi, of course, insisted on following him. He made no move to hide it either, pestering Akira with reckless ease until Akira grabbed his shoulders and snarled at him to keep quiet. Which he did, but only for about five minutes total.

Akira stopped answering after that, though, which left Akechi to talk to himself. He noticed that Akira hadn’t intervened in his monologue about ten minutes in and shut up for good, blushing furiously.

_Alright, then._

They went back into the palace the next day. “What’s our infiltration plan?” Akechi asked. “We do have one, right? Akira?”

“Get in, get Kamoshida, don’t die,” Akira outlined.

“That’s a _terrible_ plan,” Akechi said with great feeling.

“Come up with a better one, if you care so much,” Akira muttered, annoyed. They went through one floor and Akira collected another mask and more money than he knew what to do with and Akechi discovered a safe room and needed an explanation of what they were.

Akira busied himself cleaning the grime off his blade. Akechi wandered around, sat down, got up, and then planted himself in front of Akira.

“Here’s our infiltration plan,” he said sunnily, when Akira looked up.

Akira imagined himself throttling Akechi.

It was a good plan, though. Akira was used to brute-forcing palaces. Akechi’s plan was elegant and thorough. Maybe this wouldn’t turn out to be such an awful partnership after all.

—Oh, but it _would._ It would. Sooner or later Akechi would find out what exactly Akira was, and this would be over like it had never happened. Akira knew better than to let himself rely on someone else, especially someone as effortlessly _good_ as Akechi.

Akechi was taking this well—too well. Akira kept waiting for the minute he’d start screaming. He wouldn’t have predicted, though, that the thing that’d make Akechi throw up was Kamoshida’s version of Takamaki. Akira shot her dead without thinking about it, and when he turned around Akechi was white-faced and shaking, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You killed her,” Akechi whispered. “You just—you—”

“Yes,” Akira said, not even trying to defend himself. He’d have broken this sooner or later anyway.

Akechi took a deep breath, and then another. “Let’s go to a safe room,” he said quietly.

Akira followed after him. He didn’t think Akechi would want to be ambushed in this state. Besides, Akira was still the better fighter.

Pragmatism, and the desire to look into Akechi’s red eyes as he died. Akira allowed himself some weaknesses.

“That wasn’t really her, was it?” Akechi asked, the second they were in the room. “The real Takamaki.”

“No,” Akira said slowly. “That’s his—that’s how she is in her head. The version in the real world is alright, though.” He paused. “As much as she could be with that fucking creep hounding her, anyway.”

Akechi nodded. “The resemblance doesn’t bother you?”

“No,” Akira said again. He didn’t know how to explain it further than that—the boundary between this world and the real one was sharp in his mind. There was probably a version of Akechi here, and Akira couldn’t be sure even that would trip him up. “This place isn’t real like the world is real. What hurts here doesn’t matter.”

“I have a lot to learn,” Akechi murmured, almost to himself. “And I thought I could be useful to someone for once.”

What was Akira supposed to say to that? He was shit at comforting people, and Akechi had never seemed to _need_ comfort. He grappled for words in the silence, and came up with, “You’re not useless.”

“Aren’t I?” Akechi said. He tugged his gloves off, and Akira realized suddenly he’d never seen Akechi’s hands. They were slim, with long fingers and little circular marks on the back.

 _Burns,_ Akira thought. _Cigarette burns._

His own hands felt warm. He’d told himself he wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of his past in Tokyo and so far he’d held himself to that just fine, but if he found the person who’d done that to Akechi—

“No,” Akira said forcefully. “You’re not useless. You learn faster than I did, and you care more.”

“A strange compliment, but I’ll take it,” Akechi said, still looking at his hands. “I don’t think I’ll get used to killing thoughts that look like people anytime soon.”

Akira shrugged. “I’ll do it, then,” he heard himself say.

“You shouldn’t have to carry dead weight,” Akechi said seriously.

“Shut up,” Akira responded.

As conversations went, Akira couldn’t decide if that one had been good or bad. He put it out of his head and then turned it over at night when he couldn’t sleep. Akechi hadn’t looked at him differently afterwards, which was not really something Akira had been prepared for.

At school Akira went mostly unnoticed; the rumors that he was a killer died down as soon as Akechi got wind of them, and Akira knew how to make himself small. He slouched, hair obscuring his face and glasses doing the remaining work.

He used his nondescript facade to observe Akechi. There was a method to his chaos, finely honed and easily visible to anyone who knew him better than these kids bothered. He sorted out fights and shut down rumors that went too far, and though he started fights too it was always with kids that wouldn’t have minded their own business anyway. Akira saw him talk to Takamaki and then Ryuji, and then Takamaki again.

He saw Ryuji and Takamaki walking home together three days later, and something clicked in his head. He waited until after school to find Akechi, who was leaning against a wall and arguing with the student council president. Akira hovered nearby until she left and then cornered Akechi.

“Got into trouble?” Akechi asked, bored and disaffected.

Akira couldn’t stop grinning. “Do they know you like them?” he demanded.

“Get out,” Akechi said shortly. “I have shit to do around here without you bothering me.”

“Do they _know,_ ” Akira insisted.

Akechi gave him a tired look. “What the fuck are you talking about.”

“Ryuji and Takamaki,” Akira said. “But all of them, really.”

“Blow my cover, why don’t you,” Akechi sighed. “Let’s get out of here.”

The rooftop looked over the street. Akira paced around the edge and Akechi sat at the rickety table and watched him until he circled back. “Why do you like them?”

“Who else will?” Akechi said indifferently. “I don’t like them, I just don’t care enough to hate them.”

“So you set them up on little playdates with each other—”

Akechi snorted. “You make me sound like a worried parent.”

“Aren’t you?” Akira asked. “I thought you were like, the school bully. But all you do is bully the bullies and force people to get along. You have them all figured out.”

“Looks like you have _me_ all figured out,” Akechi said sourly. He was so much more bearable in the real world, where he wasn’t being all polite and excitable and sunny. “You’ve been watching me, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Akira said. “You’re avoiding the question.”

Akechi sighed. “No one gives a fuck about these kids,” he muttered. “This is one of the best schools in the city, supposedly, but _no one gives a fuck._ ”

“Doesn’t make it your job,” Akira pointed out.

“Do you see _anyone_ else,” Akechi grumbled. “‘Sides, I’d get bored without people to mess with.”

“You’re not doing this out of boredom,” Akira decided. “I think you like playing mother hen.”

Akechi flinched.

“And you don’t lose your temper as much as you pretend to,” Akira continued. “You’d be worse at manipulating them if you did.”

“What’s the point of this?” Akechi enquired.

Akira blinked, thrown. “Point of what?”

“Telling me what you know,” Akechi clarified. “If you know more about someone than they know you do, it’s smarter to keep that to yourself until the information’s useful to deploy. But you’re not telling me this because you want to threaten me, or because you want something.” He paused. “You’re a little stupid, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Akira grinned. “And you’re a little more interesting than I thought.”

“Do you just go through life seeking the next thrill to throw yourself against? Don’t answer that, please.”

“ _Please_ ,” Akira repeated. And then, because he was curious: “You’re a mama’s boy too, aren’t you?”

“My mother’s dead,” Akechi snapped. “Don’t bring her into this.”

“I wish my mother was dead,” Akira said, knowing it would just rile Akechi up.

It worked—Akechi punched him, and Akira didn’t duck. He didn’t even try. Akechi probably didn’t get this kind of satisfaction a lot and Akira was quite happy to provide.

Distantly, through the pain, he observed that he was more of a mess than Akechi knew. He didn’t care.

“Shit,” Akechi hissed. “Don’t fucking—we’re supposed to be on the same side here.” He didn’t look very regretful, but he did seem worried. Genuinely worried, which was hilarious.

Akira’s cheek stung; he knew better than to reach up and touch it. “We are,” he said.

“I have a first aid kit in my bag, hang on,” Akechi told him, reaching down.

Akira thought about telling him not to bother. It didn’t hurt that badly—Akira had worse bruises under his clothes from Kamoshida’s palace. Throwing himself around as much as he did had its consequences. Akechi took his gloves off, the burns on the backs of his hands stark and ugly. But his fingers were gentle on Akira’s cheek, and as Akira tilted his face for it he remembered it had been years since someone had willingly touched him.

Was it _willing_ if Akira had goaded Akechi into it? It counted, though. Akira had little else to count. “Who burnt you?” he asked Akechi.

“My father,” Akechi said shortly.

“I’ll kill him,” Akira offered.

Akechi smiled, thin and flinty. “You needn’t bother,” he said. “He can’t hurt me anymore.”

“...Because he’s dead?”

“Because I live on my own. You’re done.” His touch lingered on Akira’s face, though, and Akira considered ways to make Akechi touch him again. And again. And then he realized Akechi hadn’t stepped back, or looked away. He blinked up, and Akechi said, “We _are_ on the same side, aren’t we?” He sounded unsure, and young.

“I’m on your side,” Akira said deliberately.

“Does that mean we’re friends?” Akechi asked longingly.

Nobody had ever wanted to be Akira’s friend. He’d never cared much about that, really. But now he felt like he was teetering on the edge of that desire, and he wished he cared enough to not tip over. “Yes,” he said unhesitatingly. “Obviously.”

 _Friends_ meant Akechi blew up his phone at odd hours, with links to Wikipedia articles and then paywalled studies about something called cognitive psience. “Aren’t you even a _little_ bit curious?” he demanded, and Akira let him ramble himself to a stop without taking anything in and then handed him a can of soda. _Friends_ meant Akechi rifled through Akira’s bag and made fun of the titles he’d checked out from the library while Akira blushed. _Friends_ meant he got that sunny smile in the real world too, and it never stopped feeling like a gentle hand on his throat. Not a threat _yet._

The Friday after they found Kamoshida’s palace, Ryuji and Takamaki skidded to a stop in front of them. Akechi followed and Akira trailed after, and Akira found he wasn’t so far gone that the sight of a girl about to fall over an edge didn’t make his stomach lurch unpleasantly. He glanced at Akechi first—squared shoulders. He walked forward like he knew he could fix this, and Akira didn’t doubt it. He didn’t even think about doubting it.

Akechi _couldn’t_ fix it, though.

(Of course he couldn’t. He was eighteen, and he might have been good at seeming older and more capable than that but he _wasn’t._ He was a child and Akira hated himself for forgetting that, for treating him like more for even a second.)

Ann—she was Ann to them now—went with Shiho to the hospital. Akechi talked to half a dozen teachers and gave Akira the task of keeping Ryuji from fighting Kamoshida (Akira didn’t want to bother, but he wanted to disobey Akechi even less, not when precious little was in Akechi’s control) and then school was out and it was just the two of them and Ryuji, who couldn’t stop talking about how much he hated Kamoshida.

Akira let him go on until Akechi’s shoulders slumped, and then he squeezed Ryuji’s arm until he shut up.

There was little Akira could ask of Akechi in this state. He had a blankly haunted look in his eyes, and his hands were shaking faintly. Akira dragged both of them to LeBlanc and made curry and glared until Akechi ate it, slowly and reluctantly.

Ryuji left, citing train timings. Akira walked him out. “Will he be okay?” he asked Akira, and Akira wondered if Ryuji and Akechi would’ve been friends if either of them could figure out how to pop the question.

He shrugged in reply. It was better than saying _no._

Akechi was throwing up in the sink when Akira came back in. Akira filled a glass with water and leaned against the fridge until Akechi stopped, and then held out the glass. Akechi shook his head.

Up until now, Akira had thought Akechi just hated failing. He _did_ hate failing. He’d blame himself even if there wasn’t a single way he could’ve known.

_Do you see anyone else?_

Now he suspected this was something more. “Sleep in my room,” Akira offered impulsively. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Don’t be silly,” Akechi croaked.

“You’re not getting home in this state,” Akira pointed out.

Akechi took the offer, and the couch. He cried quietly, but not quietly enough that Akira didn’t stay up listening. The sound of consequences.

“If we steal his treasure, we’ll change his heart,” Akira told Akechi the next morning, over coffee and toast. Akechi looked pale, and his eyes were puffy and sore. Akira wanted to smooth down his bangs and was glad of the pitcher in his hand that kept him from trying.

“I want him dead,” Akechi said coldly.

A little thrill ran through Akira at how effortlessly Akechi said the words. But—he was on Akechi’s side here, not his own. “He’ll suffer more if you change his heart.”

Akechi put his face in his hands. “You’re right,” he mumbled. “Fuck.”

The thrill faded to an unpleasant sourness. “‘Course I’m right,” he said. “Let’s do it later today. We already have a route mapped out—we just gotta go in and get it.”

“Yeah,” Akechi said. Akira stopped talking. Akechi hadn’t slept worse than he had.

But there was a ruthless look in his eyes that evening as they stepped into the palace, and Akira fell behind him without asking. Guarding his back the way he’d guard people who wouldn’t look back or slow down for him. Akira had thought he’d left this kind of bitter rage behind in Inaba but it turned out there was enough of it left in him to simmer quietly as they stalked past shadows and traps and found their way to the center of the palace.

The battle would’ve been easier with double the people. Akira thought about Ryuji and Ann. He didn’t think Akechi would be open to that suggestion. And Akira didn’t enjoy the idea of an audience watching the way he watched Akechi.

They stole Kamoshida’s treasure in the end, though. Shit happened and Akira didn’t keep track of it, past the point of caring. He’d been through this song and dance before.

Akechi kept up with it obsessively. He spent the hours after school at LeBlanc’s counter, scanning the news on his phone and chewing his lip and doing homework and grumbling at Akira to do his own homework.

Sojiro eyed Akechi curiously. “Glad you’re making friends,” he told Akira one day as he was leaving, and Akira nodded, and hoped it would end there.

“I still can’t believe we’re friends,” Akechi said absently, when Sojiro was gone.

He was doodling in a corner of the page, a spiralling pattern. Akira fixed his eyes to it and said, “Me neither.”

“Really?” Akechi asked. “I would’ve thought you…” He turned the page and started over on the pattern. “Well, I suppose not. We’re rather alike, aren’t we?”

 _I hope not._ “I never really tried to make friends,” Akira replied. “Didn’t feel the need.”

“Everyone feels the need,” Akechi admonished. “We’re a social species.”

“I had friends as a kid,” Akira sighed. “I talked to people back in Inaba. I’m sure some of them thought they were my friend. It doesn’t matter what they think.”

“Doesn’t it?” Akechi asked. “I thought we’d established that reality is composed of what we think.”

“Only if you’re fucked in the head,” Akira countered. “And palaces aren’t _real._ Not like this is.”

“This?” Akechi raised an eyebrow.

Akira gestured between them, and then around them.

“The palaces are real to us, though,” Akechi argued. “We walk through them. We fight in them. It’d be a dream if only one of us was in it, but we’re there together. Why doesn’t that matter?”

“ _Because,_ ” Akira growled, frustrated. “The palace falls apart without a treasure, without a ruler. The real world doesn’t. It goes on after the people in it die, after the things in it are destroyed.”

“It doesn’t go on for the people dying,” Akechi replied at once. And then he looked down at the shape he’d drawn. “Oh.”

“What?”

“We killed Kamoshida, didn’t we?”

Akira blinked. “No, we’d have heard about it if we had. He’s still alive.” He felt uneasy, though. Akechi was close to a truth.

Akechi shook his head. “We didn’t take his life, but we took his desires out of him. The things that made his life worth living.” He looked sickened by the words coming out of his mouth. He looked like he didn’t know how to stop thinking.

“His desires were harming other people,” Akira said flatly. “He deserved to be stopped.”

“What gives us the right to decide?”

Why did Akechi have to think about everything so much? Akira hadn’t looked this hard for answers. He’d just accepted the power given to him and done as he willed. For two years, that’d worked out just fucking fine for him.

“Because we can,” Akira said. “Because the other people who can didn’t. And because if we don’t, then Kamoshida and others like him will just keep doing what they want.”

“You make a compelling case.” Akechi sounded relieved. “What would I do without you?”

“That’s what friends are for,” Akira muttered. He wasn’t a very good friend.

Why had _he_ been given this power? If there was any rhyme or reason to the world and its decisions it would always have been Akechi, and Ann, and Ryuji, and people who actually gave a fuck about right and wrong. Akira had cared about that once. But it was easier to be powerful than to care.

He’d never asked to be powerful. Someone had given him the chance anyway, and he hoped every day that they regretted it. He kept waiting to wake up and find out he couldn’t do what he’d gotten used to doing.

It wouldn’t be an undeserved betrayal.

Akira skipped Kamoshida’s apology. He didn’t care to hear it. Akechi found him on the rooftop, messing with lockpicks. He sat down opposite Akira and Akira wanted to look up and didn’t.

“He nearly killed himself out of regret,” Akechi said eventually. He looked pale and tired.

“And he didn’t?” Akira asked.

Akechi’s fingers drummed against the edge of the table. “No.” 

He didn’t elaborate, and Akira didn’t ask him to. He put the lockpicks back inside and got up. “Want some coffee?”

“Sure,” Akechi said. He trailed after Akira. 

LeBlanc was empty when he went in. Sojiro had left a note on the counter: _gone out 4 groceries. close up when you return._

“Can I sleep here again tonight?” Akechi asked. Akira dropped his bag and turned. Akechi was already shaking his head, backtracking, “I probably kept you up last time. I should go home, it’s alright.”

“No,” Akira said. “Sleep here. I’ll take the couch.”

Akechi argued about it. He argued about it the entire time as he changed into a t-shirt and shorts that Akira handed him. He could talk nonstop like no one else Akira had met, and it took him about five minutes to realize that Akechi’s plan was to annoy him into caving.

Like hell Akira was going to cave, but he couldn’t deny that it was working a little bit. He got into bed and held up the duvet pointedly.

“With you?” Akechi demanded, shocked.

“Do you see someone else?” Akira asked archly. “Come here.”

It wasn’t an easy fit. Akechi was all sharp elbows and awkward knees and Akira wasn’t much better. The bed was too small to accommodate both of them unless they slept tangled together, and it was painfully clear to Akira that neither of them were comfortable.

Akira’s arm ended up over Akechi’s side, one of his legs pinning both of Akechi’s down and his face against the back of Akechi’s neck. He could’ve counted the freckles on Akechi’s shoulder blades where the t-shirt slid away to reveal thin, unmarked skin. He could’ve put a knife in Akechi’s back like this, but he didn’t want to. _Such a goner,_ he thought, ruefully amused. Sighed quietly and hoped it wouldn’t disturb Akechi.

No such luck. They were too close to escape feeling everything the other did. Akechi had been still and quiet so far, but he shifted at the slight sound. “Comfortable?” he mumbled.

“Sure,” Akira lied. “You?”

“Yes,” Akechi said, sounding sincere. “But not sleepy, I’m afraid.”

Akira hummed. “Me neither,” he admitted.

“I think it’s the excitement,” Akechi said academically. He shifted in place so he was lying on his back, and Akira obligingly propped himself up on one elbow to watch him, the faded silvery light from the window laying thin soft lines across Akechi’s face and body. Waited for him to go on. “I’ve never had a sleepover before.”

“We had one just a couple weeks back,” Akira noted.

Akechi blinked. “That didn’t count, I think.”

Akira snorted.

“My mama never let me,” Akechi said wistfully. “I received a couple of invitations in my time, but she told me to turn them down. She said she didn’t want to come pick me up in the middle of the night when their parents realized what my mother did for a living.” He trailed off.

“I was invited to a sleepover once,” Akira said aimlessly. “I was dared to eat a worm and I did and my dad had to take me to the emergency room.”

Akechi laughed out loud at that. “I can imagine you eating bugs,” he agreed.

“Thanks?”

“Not a compliment,” Akechi murmured. He reached up slowly, telegraphing his movements like he thought Akira would run away. Akira didn’t know what he wanted to run from, though, so he stayed still as Akechi’s cool fingers pressed against his jaw and coaxed him down.

Akechi kissed like he’d never kissed anyone before. Akira put a hand on his chest and kept him down as he taught him better. 

Somehow, this wasn’t how Akira had seen this night going. But of course Akechi found ways to surprise him. And Akechi’s hand was light on Akira’s neck; not a threat. He must’ve thought Akira easily spooked. Akira kissed him and kissed him and didn’t try to convince Akechi otherwise. It was nice to be treated like he was delicate even if he was the furthest thing from it.

And Akechi learnt fast. He experimented and paid attention to Akira’s reactions, the ones he couldn’t keep in and the ones he didn’t bother trying to. He bit Akira’s lips and did it over and over when Akira growled, until Akira could hardly think against the need to have this forever, this and nothing else even if he choked on it. Even if they both did.

It took them a while to once again acknowledge the need to breathe. Akira’s neck ached from bending down. He sat up and Akechi followed suit, eyes soft and hazy and undone like he’d have given Akira everything in this moment.

Akira wasn’t good enough not to turn that down. Akechi knelt between his legs and whimpered into his mouth and Akira kissed to convince himself he could take everything he wanted out of Akechi and Akechi wouldn’t mind. Akechi didn’t _seem_ to mind. He gave and gave and Akira thought he’d never find a line he wouldn’t cross for this boy. Any limit Akechi wanted him to break, if he’d agree to keep kissing Akira like this forever.

It was Akechi who pulled away for the last time, resting his head against Akira’s shoulder and laying a hand over Akira’s hammering heart. “I’m sleepy,” he sighed. “But you feel so good.”

“We can do this again some other time,” Akira offered, helpless to say anything else.

Akechi kissed his neck with lips bruised soft. “Yes,” he promised. “Sleep, Akira.”

It still wasn’t easier to fit around each other, but at least Akechi wasn’t uncomfortable now. Or Akira _thought_ he wasn’t. He snuggled in against Akira and fell asleep almost at once, fingers curled loosely in the little space between them. Akira stayed awake, their pulses loud in his ears. He wasn’t uncomfortable either, and that was its own kind of discomfort.

But he couldn’t stay up for long with Akechi in his arms. He closed his eyes and drifted off sooner than he expected, and dreamed it’d ruin him worse than it ruined Akechi when all this bliss burnt up around them.

Akira snapped awake before Akechi the next morning. Usually he had no trouble getting out of bed, chased out by nightmares or boredom as soon as he woke up, but between Akechi’s grip on his shirt and his slow, measured breaths in Akira’s ear dragging himself out felt like more trouble than it was worth. Still, he extricated himself eventually with no small amount of difficulty, glad of the weekend that meant Akechi could sleep in. He needed the rest.

Sojiro’s note was still on the counter when Akira padded downstairs. He tore it up and binned it and got started on making some curry for himself and Akechi. Less spicy than he liked, because it turned out Akechi couldn’t stomach spice. Akira had just finished putting the rice in the cooker when Akechi stumbled down, reaching at once for his bag where he’d left it next to the door.

He spread his homework on one of the tables and then abandoned it to sit at the counter. “Are we going to do this again?” he said.

Akira was chopping onions. He blinked away the burn in his eyes and said, “This?”

“Changing people’s hearts.”

“Oh.” He slid the cut onion to the side and picked up the other half. “If we find someone bad enough.”

“They’re on every street corner,” Akechi said. “We hardly have to _look._ ”

“Not everyone bad has a palace,” Akira replied, reaching for the tomatoes. “Maybe I’ll take you to Mementos. You need to practice fighting.”

He thought about Akechi in Kamoshida’s palace, graceful and clever. A bit of a show-off, but who wasn’t? All that natural talent, honed to precision and backed by Akira’s raw power. They’d make a great team.

And then he thought about the weight of Akechi’s body against his in a bed. Akira had never liked being touched by other people, had never given much thought except to avoid it, but he understood the appeal now. It wasn’t just about touching another person—there was something about the trust of it all, the way they wouldn’t see a betrayal coming in that moment. Akira could get obsessed with the sweetness of it.

But first he had to explain what Mementos was. 

“And they’re just _there_?” Akechi was demanding. “You know where all of these bad guys are and you don’t _do anything_?”

There it was. Akira sighed. “You can’t just go around interfering in everyone’s life until you fix the world,” he said shortly. “There’s too many people in the world for that. You’d go nuts. _I’d_ go nuts.”

“You have to try,” Akechi argued.

“Nobody donates all their leftover income to charity,” Akira snapped. “And we don’t burn ourselves out trying to save everyone, either. People can’t be saved if they don’t want to be.”

“I could do it on my own,” Akechi said stubbornly.

Akira poured half a cup of water into the pan and waited for the sizzle to pass before saying, “It’ll be a waste of time to follow you around and drag you back, but it’s not like I have anything else to do.”

“If you could stop a murder from happening and you don’t, isn’t that as good as killing them yourself?” Akechi sounded bitter, like this was personal. Maybe it was for him.

It had been personal for Akira once. It still could be. He came up with a glibly moral answer and then abandoned it. He lied to Akechi enough already. “I don’t really care,” he said instead. “Is this hypothetical?”

“No,” Akechi said. There was a long silence, then: “Oh.”

“What?” Akira asked. But he knew, he knew. He’d finally given too much away. He didn’t have to look at Akechi to know the way his head tipped to the side and his brows knit together when he was figuring something out. 

“You’ve done it already,” Akechi said, all wonder and no disgust. “You’ve killed someone already.”

Akira turned the stove off. “Yes,” he said. He had nothing to say in his defense, so he put a plate of curry and rice in front of Akechi. He kept waiting for the blow to come, to feel something shatter between them forever. The silence was excruciating, every second winding tension around Akira’s lungs.

“Say something,” he whispered, frozen. He couldn’t think past his childish fear of abandonment. He couldn’t figure out whether he was worse off for the night they’d had, whether he was grateful anyway.

“There’s nothing to say,” Akechi sighed. “I should’ve seen this coming.”

Akira couldn’t disagree with _that_. “You never asked me how I knew what I knew what I knew.”

“I thought I’d drive you away if I pried,” Akechi replied. The words didn’t come easy to him, but he said them anyway, like Akira _still_ deserved to know that he was wanted. “And then I thought you might not want to revisit your regrets.”

“I don’t regret it,” Akira said flatly. “Just to be clear.”

“Why did you do it?” 

Akechi looked down at the plate and pushed some of the food around while Akira tried to come up with an answer. A truth that didn’t exonerate him while still being _true._

“I had a choice,” Akira sighed finally. “I made it.”

“Would you again?”

“Yes.”

Akechi nodded, like that settled the matter. “There will have to be some ground rules, of course.”

“Sorry,” Akira inhaled. “Ground rules for _what._ ”

“Killing.” Akechi blinked owlishly at him. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Akira echoed sarcastically. “No, go on.”

Akechi ticked them off on his fingers. “You’ll tell me if you kill someone. Preferably _before_ you do it. And you won’t kill anyone you don’t have to. And you’ll take me with you when you do.”

“Are you sure you want to be an accomplice to _murder_?” Akira asked, dazed.

“You leave me with little choice,” Akechi said impatiently.

“You could just _leave_ ,” Akira pointed out. “Forget about all of this, cut ties with me, the works.”

“No,” Akechi said firmly. “I can’t do that. Then you’d be running around all by yourself, and I’d have no one to watch my back.”

“You don’t _actually_ want a killer at your back.”

“You had plenty of opportunity to kill me,” Akechi dismissed. “If you haven’t found a reason yet, it’s unlikely you will find one—and if you do we can cross that bridge when we come to it. Unless you’re having second thoughts about this, in which case—”

“No,” Akira said hurriedly. “I’m fine with this.” _More than fine._

Some part of him wondered if he’d known it would turn out like this. If he’d known the second he put himself at Akechi’s back that Akechi was so starved for company that he’d put Akira over his own morals.

“How are _you_ fine with it?”

“You’re not going to stop,” Akechi said, smiling a little. “So I’d rather you do it where I can see.”

The way Akechi made that sound sensible was almost impressive. Still, Akira didn’t trust it. “You haven’t seen me kill anyone yet,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t make any promises.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Akechi said again.

“How do you know I’ll do what you want, anyway?” he asked, but he thought he’d have followed Akechi over any bridge. Maybe that was the point of this.

“ _Will_ you?” Akechi asked.

“Don’t you have better ways of extracting answers than _just asking_?” Akira mumbled.

Akechi smiled, insufferably smug. “Answer the question.”

“No,” Akira said. “Yes. No. I’ll _try._ ”

“Why would I need better ways when you’ll just be honest?” Akechi said gently. 

The words sank inside Akira like a weighted net, trapping him effortlessly. _This isn’t fair,_ he thought, but he no longer cared.

**Author's Note:**

> you can talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/_intimatopia) or [tumblr](https://ciaran.tumblr.com). comments are held close and fuel the writing machine.


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